Where do your ideas come from?
What a splendid, stress-inducing question!
I do love this question as it shows the person is genuinely interested in my work and makes me feel impressive. Then I open my mouth and think, "You're about to sound very unintelligent." I fumble through some nonsense about atmosphere, eternal truths, and organic thought. As the Question Asker's eyes de-glaze they say, "Well, I can't wait to read it!" and we end the conversation.

Oceans and...

Honestly, I've never really thought about where my ideas come from. I thought they just came. Sometimes I force myself to come up with whatever happens next because it's time to write that scene and ideas are no longer allowed to hide. Sometimes I'm writing a scene and someone new walks in, someone I've never met before, but there they are, waltzing in all living and breathing right in the middle of my story. Mostly I listen to music and dream it up. As lovely as these examples are, none of them actually answer the question, where do your ideas come from?
But the other night I had a realization of sorts. I went to a party in Brush Prairie, WA(read: soggy farm land). When I was leaving the party I walked onto the porch and felt the night.
The rain had relented. The deep night sky peaked starless through white clouds and a cluster of mammoth pine trees reached out to me with long, piney fingers.
I descended the porch steps to the field-like lawn and tried to find the stars. When I moved my head the clouds seemed to seep across the sky, but when my head was still they sat still as well. As I stood in the cold, wet air nodding my head at the clouds, I heard a playful sound in the trees to my right. When I looked to the trees I was struck by how frightening pine trees are at night. Peering into the deep black bows I imagined what monsters might have found their perfect hiding place in their branches as the oddly childlike tune of the trickling rain drops held my scariest thoughts at bay.

...xmas trees always give me ideas. Always. 

Just then, I heard someone coming out of the house so I quickly took it all in again. The melody, the dark hiding places, the red-light-green-light clouds, the inky sky, and the wet, wide field. I'm saving you for later, I thought.  And they all sighed with relief because they made it. I cared that they existed and I put them down here. They will each live forever in words written and read.
I've known since I was a teenager that I see the world slightly differently. Things like oceans and Christmas trees are significant and it is very important that I pay them the attention they deserve.
I used to think my ideas Rolodex consisted mostly of nature, but it turns out I notice and save everything. Things like selfishness, judgement, tent cities, brothers-in-law, tiny hands, and cups of coffee so warm and comforting '"it's like drinking a blanket."
Which reminds me, I steal almost everything from you. That last line was not written by me, but said by another writer I know. Sometimes I take your words(with permission, of course) and sometimes I take you and mix you with my favorite parts of books: kindly monk figure(Brent Stahl), strong and reserved young woman(Tess Stern), young knight fighting for justice(the serious House Church Leader version of Matt Solschied), unaffected chick who could easily kill you(Annalise soon-to-be Southwood)  happy-go-lucky, take-on-the-world, true-to-the-end best friend(Brett McLean).
And that's where my ideas come from. Everywhere. But only if I'm paying attention.

A Lark of Sorrow

Of the days when you're just sad and there's no way to fix it.

Away in the peace of a deep green wood

I heard a lark sing the song that he could

Of love newly lost and unfortunate things

Comprised the tale that the lark could sing

Away! I cried, Be gone or be still!

Alas, moaned the lark, I am not yours to quell.

How to be Alone: A Lesson from a Pro

About four years ago, in what was the beginning of the most hopelessly lonely years of my life, my mom prayed, "God, Tori went off to Bible College and is in the very middle of your will, can't she at least have fun on a Friday night?" He said, "Bo, I want so much more for her than a fun Friday night." And this is what He meant.

Alone.
If there's one thing I have under my belt, it's how to be alone.
I've been alone in the darkened theater.
I've been alone in the sun and alone on the rainy beach.
I've been alone.
I need alone, too.

I write alone.
I write alone because the second someone says, "You should add purple scarecrows," purple scarecrows are off limits because they weren't my idea.
I write alone because it's easier to be honest when no one sees you do it.

I sleep alone.
I try very hard to only cry when I'm alone.
I worry alone.
I dance alone.
I dream alone.
I hang out alone. "Ashley liked your status." "Jake retweeted your tweet." "Hannah commented on your photo: #instalife"
Those are the worst alones. They remind you that you are alone.

I pray alone.
I wait alone.
I grieve alone.
I sing alone. Loudly.
I clean alone.
I read alone.
I am the most myself alone.
I moved away from my family all on my own.

Still, I'm only lonely occasionally.
In those moments of lonesome, I call it what it is, smile, and move on.
That sounds like the sort of advice one would receive from someone who gives completely useless advice, but 90% of the battle is giving it a name.



Loneliness,
Fear,
Boredom,
Anger.
When I can't figure out what I'm feeling I say, "I'm in a Funk. It's just a Funk Day," and that usually does the trick.

True story.

All of this alone has taught me how to value loneliness.
It's highlighted my weakness and my strengths: Not great at building a bookshelf, super good at filling.
It's taught me to rely on my own spurring on of self confidence instead of the verbal or typed affirmation of others('cause I'm awesome, that's why).
It's taught me to value the church family I have now and the family that I will have someday.
Because let's be honest, we'd really rather not be alone.

In it's healthiest state, being alone hasn't taken me away from others so much as it has brought me to God.
God is always there.
He knows what I'm thinking and feeling even when I don't realize it, or won't admit it.
He dances and cries and even, on occasion, giggles like a little girl with me.

While I may be the most myself when I am alone, I am a better myself when I'm with Him.
I'm joyful, content, hopeful, compassionate, confident, and lighthearted.
And that is so much better than a fun Friday night.